


Should I refrain?

by Eighth



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Yuribek, otayuri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9913481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eighth/pseuds/Eighth
Summary: Those cows just love to shower Beka with attention.Yuri pretends it doesn't bother him.





	

He can't help himself. He just looks, stares, glares, can't tear his eyes away from the tall, muscled man leaning over the rink guard. He's in his usual Team Kazakhstan jersey and tight black leggings, Yuri swallows briskly as his eyes burn lines down Otabek's back, ass, thighs and calves.

Otabek is talking to a couple of the ice dancers on the national Russian team, and those girls are just lapping up the attention like thirsty cows in the summer heat. Diving over each other, batting their makeup-heavy eyelashes in Beka's direction like it was the only way to get the skater any oxygen. Yuri couldn't help the way his teeth ground together, fingers tensed into fists and he forced himself to look away. 

This was their routine, he guessed, this was how things were going to be between him and Otabek. Yuri would never be enough. 

Otabek would never love him, not in the way that Yuri needed. 

Yuri skated away, desperately hoping that the cold wind would bite at his eyes and force what he'd damn well deny were tears away. He gained momentum, fueled by anger (and despair, loneliness, that empty crushing feeling in his gut), and jumped. He felt the adrenaline course through him, fuel in his veins as he folded his arms against his body and he spun. His skate met the ice and Yuri's heart flew when he noticed the blade was on the correct edge, with just enough rotations for it to count as a Quad Flip. 

Immediately he looked up. His heart hammered against his chest and he felt dizzy, gasping for breath. 

His smile dropped, eyebrows knit together in confusion. Otabek hadn't seen, he was still turned away from Yuri. The blonde skater looked down and clutched at his own hoodie, skating off the ice. He tried to maintain his composure, pursing his lips together while tears threatened to erupt at any moment.

Of course, he wasn't looking. Yuri tried to keep the disappointment at bay. 

Sure, Otabek was here to train since the Olympics were coming up. But that wasn't for any special reason other than Yuri's rink was a better resource than the one Otabek had available in Almaty. Sure, he had spent weeks planning this with Yuri, was staying with him in his apartment, but they were just friends.

They were _best_ friends. 

Nothing more.

Yuri found himself in front of his locker. Droplets of water were falling on to his bag and he was shaking. Hmmm. This is a move that the pork cutlet bowl would pull, surely, but not him. Not Yuri Plisetsky.

He hated to think it, hated to acknowledge it, hated to even contemplate the possibility that in any reality this could have ever happened. Bitterness rose in his stomach, spread through his body in aching shivers and put a bad taste in his mouth. He felt a sharp pain in his head. 

Yuri Plisetsky did not fall in love with his best friend. 

Yuri Plisetsky did not break down when his best friend didn't notice he finally landed a 4F after four fucking torturous months of focusing solely on that damn jump after a damned lifetime in the shadow of Victor fucking Ni--

"Yura."

The shaking stopped. Yuri let go of his hoodie. He cleared his throat and bent down as if he was stretching. Once he was touching his toes, he braced himself against his knees and wiped his cheeks on his leggings. 

Yeah, good job. That was totally smooth, he probably didn't see you bawling your fucking eyes off like a piggy in the bathroom.

"What?" his voice came out small, rough from sobs that never made it through his throat. He looked over to Otabek, now standing with his arms crossed leaning against the entrance to the locker room. His dark eyes are on Yuri, expression unreadable as always, full lips drawn tightly together.

Yuri's chest heaved with what he imagined were signs that he was having a heart attack. That was not his heart breaking over how beautiful and tall and wide Otabek was. When Otabek looked at him like that, Yuri felt so small and insignificant, but at the same time he felt like the single most important person in the whole world. 

He hadn't realized how lonely he had felt while he cried in the locker room, how he had subconsciously yearned for Otabek's companionship. As if on cue, the other skater walked over and took a seat on the bench next to where Yuri was stretching. They were so close, if Yuri just leaned in the other direction then Otabek's face would beeeeee... Not finishing that thought, Yuri mentally chided himself. 

It was bad enough he was in love with his best fucking friend, it was pathetic enough that he was so soul crushingly alone when Otabek wasn't near that even Piggy and Victor's company was comforting, but the things that he imagined Otabek doing to him were on a whole other level of _just plain wrong._

"Talk to me."

Yuri rolled his eyes, "Tell me what's really on your mind, Beka." He mocked. A shrug was all he got as a response and Yuri unfolded himself from his stretch. 

He looked down at Otabek, sitting on the bench looking up at him. Olive skin, dark eyes, thick brow, and a messy, un-gelled mop of chocolate curls on top of his perfect fucking head. Damn it, Yuri. 

He was so in love it hurt. He was such a damned fool. 

Once again, his chest emptied itself and inhaling was hard as his lungs accommodated themselves to allow room for his heart to throw a fuckin party. He wasn't sure what he looked like to Otabek, but he knew his fair skin must have been betraying him with some form of a fucking blush (wait, do guys blush? Yeah, he’s seen piggy turn pink before so they do.) 

Thankfully, _since they're just friends_ , Otabek probably just thought it was him flushing from working out.

Otabek's “Subtle” clearing of his throat snapped him out of his thoughts and Yuri stopped staring into his fucking hair. He quickly searched for something to say, some excuse to give Otabek to make the subject pass and let him just fucking enjoy the rare occasion that is Otabek's visit to Russia. 

_I love you._ No, that wouldn't do.

"I'm fucking tired of those sluts hanging on you during every practice." Yuri started, and his stomach fucking left the building from the guarded look that Otabek shot him. His arms no longer crossed, Otabek's hands gripped his knees, knuckles white. Eyes narrowed, they didn't drop Yuri's green (now panicked) stare. "Yeah- They are distracting you and it's not helping with the training you're supposed to be doing. You're acting with your dick, dude, and if you just need a fuck I’m sure you can find a whore _after_ rink hours."

His head reeled with what he had just said, how he meant none of it. What Otabek did was truly none of his business, but the sick and gross feeling of jealousy made his thoughts a garbled fucking mess and _god he wished he could take it back._

Otabek stood. Closed the space between them. In the years since they met, Yuri had grown a few inches but Otabek had as well. Otabek towered over him, staring deep into his soul, taking apart every aspect of Yuri as he dug in. But he didn't speak. He just stood there, silently. 

The silence ate away at Yuri. He would much rather Otabek yell and cuss him out; He'd rather get into a fist fight where he could be forced to earn the words he just spoke. 

But... nothing. Otabek just... did nothing. 

He let his shoulders relax. Backed off, first one foot, and then both feet stepped back and now there was a careful and tense distance between the two men.

Yuri's throat never felt so dry, and he recognized the look that now painted Otabek’s features. 

Disappointment. 

That, more than anything, stung.

"I apologize if talking to them is leaving that impression on you." Cold, distant, Yuri notes, Otabek was distancing himself with every word. Yuri searched dark brown eyes, as if searching through a forest trying to find some form of sign. Something, anything, to indicate that maybe there's more?

Yuri tried to force himself not to wish for anything else, not to dream of more before he got ahead of himself. He'd never asked, or tried to breach the subject before because he just knew deep, deep down, deep in the darkest reaches of his soul that it's impossible.

Otabek loves him, no doubt about that. In the way, a man loves his country, his brother, his family. Yuri would never be able to be his lover. He's made it clear that he doesn't want Yuri, _not in that way_.

Cold spreads through Yuri, he wraps his arms around himself. "Listen, Beka..." Yuri begins. 

He can't face the truth himself, he knows that Otabek will never know the feeling that he's been nurturing and holding on to for years now. That growing feeling, slowly taking root in his gut with every skype conversation that went well into the night and then the morning. Every text message and letter that they wrote each other, pretending to be old friends exchanging letters during wartimes. Every look they shared, looking beyond each other’s eyes into deep expanses of nothing and everything at the same time. Every picture that Yuri secretly treasured, those rare pictures he convinced Otabek to take of himself instead of the scenery of Almaty. Every second, minute, hour, day and night counted down before getting to see Otabek again felt like they were ticking away against Yuri’s spine, his yearning manifested itself into gasped breath under sheets at night.

But he can feel the anger and disappointment rolling off of Otabek in waves, right here and now. He can see it in the guarded set in his eyes, how his lips are slightly turned down, how his fists shake on the sides of his thighs. 

Fuck it, if he's going to ruin the friendship he's worked built, might as well go all the way. Never let it be said that Yuri Plisetsky did anything half assed. 

"You missed me landing the flip." Testing the water, Yuri teases, still not smiling. Shock and sadness and something else flicker through Otabek's face before returning to neutral. Okay, we're back to square one. At least he's not fuming now.

"I'm sorry, Yura." Quiet, warm.

He hates to say this, he hates needing Otabek, Yuri sighs and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Listen up. I'm only saying this once. Why do you think I come around, wake up every morning at fuck o' clock AM, wasting my precious time?" Yuri grits his teeth. He tried to make a joke, tried to call back the easy arrogant air he typically carries around but it came out wrong. He can't get the confrontational edge out of his voice, can't help but be accusatory from how raw he feels inside, but he hopes that Otabek can see through those words and hear what he's _saying._

Otabek's eyes narrow again, but he shakes his head. He sits back down on the bench and pats the seat next to him. Yuri decides that sitting is okay, and he swings one leg over the bench and straddles it so he can face Otabek properly. 

He and Otabek share a long look, probably too long, before he continues talking.

"Our training schedules are different. I try to spend as much time as I can around you." his words are coming out needy, pleading. Trying to get Otabek to read between the lines, he feels fucking pathetic.

"Yes, because we live apart during the competitive season, and rarely get to see each other otherwise."

Yuri's eyebrows rise up in surprise at how just one sentence can provide him with actual, quantifiable amounts of physical pain. He feels as though a sharp knife has been run through his scalp, a hot line searing through his numbing skin. His heart and stomach are now continuing their party, and his knees have joined in now. Sitting was a good idea, otherwise he'd have fucking fainted by now.

"You think that I fucking practice and practice and then teach you fucking ballet because I’m the best fucking Samaritan ever? Shit, Otabek, I want to meet the Yuri Plisetsky that you know because that guy is a mother fucking SAINT." Yuri explodes. He tears off his skates, barely unlacing them properly before ripping them off his feet. He ignores how his left ankle now aches and disregards the fact he'll have to change the now torn laces on the other. He rips himself off the fucking bench, almost taking it with him, and has to pace the locker room in order to control himself.

"You- You think that I bleed and work and train and jump and skate and fucking arabesque and and _barely_ sleep -" Hot tears are falling, his hair is falling from his bun and over his face where he's been clawing at his head with shaking hands, his whole _world_ is falling apart, everything is falling. "Y-You think that i destroy myself day in and day out to be fucking perfect and be _there for you_ like I have never been there for anyone in my life. - _like no one **ever** was in my life, until my grandfather found me_ -" Ugly sobs now. Words run through his mind faster than they crash out of his mouth.

He wanted to stop. He couldn't stop. 

Good job, Plisetsky. This is how you woo a man, this is exactly it.

His vision blurred, every inch of his body shook with terrifying strength and the tremors clattered through his teeth and into his mind, shaking every promise he made himself lose until he was just raw emotion embodied. Every promise to keep it all a secret, protect his friendship and his heart, stay by Otabek’s side regardless of the cost. Regardless of the pain.  
He turned around for the first time, truly focused on Otabek, and found the other man standing there, shocked. Eyes wide and mouth wide open. A hand stretched out. 

"I love you."

The truth spilled out… _He told him now._

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired by the pain i inflicted with this post](http://ochoth.tumblr.com/post/157630169813/) and dedicated to [@Otabek-Deserved-Better. ](https://otabek-deserved-better.tumblr.com/)  
>  <3<3 Much love


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